The Soul of the City

    by Majid Naficy

            In memory of Mohammad Mokhtari*


O dark cloud!
Carry me with you to the sky of Tehran.
The foam of the Caspian Sea is in my mouth
And the sobbing of its waves in my ears.
I want to cry on the sad Summit of Tochal
And together with the wounded wind
Cross the empty throne of Shah Neshin Peak
And along with the raging brook
Fall from the slopes of Espid Kamar Path
And at the foothills of the mountain
Regardless of bloody barbs Of Evin prison
Pass the sleepy tower guards
And stare at a small window
Through which for years
He looked at the blue sky:
"Why did the Shah put you behind bars
And deny you the sun and rain?
And when the Revolution opened this gate
Why did the mullahs snatch you again
And throw you in the same cage?"
I want to be freed from this cell
And walk out with you again.
Carrying a prison garb
And a multitude of burning memories.
I will pass familiar alleys of the city
And find myself behind a door
The key to which was in your pocket
And look at the wet eyes of a woman
Who was attached to your kind face:
"When did you see him for the first time
And under the roof of which trellis
Did the hands of both of you blossom?
Did you try to portray him
and let his colorless lightness
Like Chagall's "The Soul of the City"*
Spread over your canvas
And lift you in the air
To fly with him in the sky?
Was he a gentle father?
Did he put his son on his lap
And like an ever-jolting train
Did he bounce him to Mashhad station
For Grandma to see her grandson?
And when his child giggled
And tumbled from his lap
Did he not take his hands
And with a finger
Draw a pool inside his palm
So that his pinky
Like a thirsty chicken
Would fall into the water
His Major pointer would  take it out
And his mullah thumb would eat it up?
When did he buy his son a fresh notebook
With pencils already sharpened?
And put a backpack on his back
So he would look at himself in the mirror
And go to school with his dad
And hear from him
that Dad will be back in the afternoon
...
But one day he did not return
And his key remained in his pocket.
In which street did they snatch him
And in the confines of which patrol car
Did they blindfold him?
In which garrison did they tie him to a bed
And which dirty hands after ablution*
Put spots of fire on his skin?
Which rope pressed his throat
And which bird heard his last outcry?
Then in the emptiness of which road
Did they abandon his lifeless body
And cowardly got lost in the dark
Unmindful of the gaze of a bird
Staring at his closed eyes
Witness to man's brutality?"

O dark cloud!
Carry me with you to the sky of Tehran.
I want to cry with his mourners,
And together with my friends tonight
Escape from these lowly homes and dark hearts
And along with rain drops
Reach the warm heart of the earth
Where the clear underground water
Runs toward a remote sandy desert.
There lives a budding thistle
Shooting up from the earth
Oblivious to the city's havoc
And housing underneath
The soul of the city.

                        December 13, 1998

Video: Majid Naficy reads his poem for Mohammad Mokhtari in Persian

*- Mohammad Mokhtari (1942-98) Poet, scholar and a prominent member of "The Iranian Writers' Association who was murdered by the secret police and his body was found on the outskirt of Tehran, December 1998.
*- Marc Chagall (1887-1985), a Russian-French painter, born in Belarus. He has a painting called "Soul of the City" in which his wife and he are hanging in the air like a cloud and observing the city. Chagall created this painting in the US, 1945 a year after the death of his first wife. Mokhtari’s wife, Maryam is also a painter.
*- In the Islamic regime, the officers of torture are obliged to perform ritual ablution before lashing!